


The Rain In Your Heart

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim suffers a tragedy and has to re-evaluate his life</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rain In Your Heart

## The Rain In Your Heart

#### by OCONN

  
  
  
Death of a canon character, but NOT Jim or Blair  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Notes: AU, Death of a canon character, but not Jim or Blair. Also, this takes place several years ago, when Blair was younger. Rating: NC-17  
Warning: None 

The Rain in Your Heart  
by OCONN 

Jim sat on the hood of his truck, knees drawn up and held to his chest by arms that ached almost as much as his heart; he sat looking out over the lights of Cascade. This was his city; he'd always believed that. He protected those who lived in it, put himself between it and the scum who wanted to destroy it. And he knew it so well, could even look out over the twinkling lights and pick out individual neighborhoods, the bay, parks, and downtown, where the police housed it's finest. All but one...he wasn't there anymore. 

6 Months earlier 

"Simon, I don't like this. Something doesn't feel right." 

"Jim," replied Captain Banks. "You worry too much. I'll be fine. I'm wired, the cavalry is waiting to move in, and you're here to back me up." 

The Captain checked his mike and vest before giving his best detective the most courageous face he could muster. 

"You know I don't have a choice, Jim. What if that really had been Daryl? How do I explain to my son that I was willing to put my life on the line to rescue him, but not his best friend?" 

Jim tried to find a convincing argument but he couldn't concentrate with the eerie feeling that was creeping up his spine. He knew this was all wrong and he didn't want to attend another funeral. Especially not Simon's. 

"Let me go instead, Sir," he tried. "Daryl needs you..." 

"Jim," he said in warning. "Look, you've been acting crazy lately. The last thing I need is for you to get in there and do that spacey thing you do that scares the shit out of me. I need you out here where you can talk to me. Besides, maybe your Superman hearing will kick in and you'll pick up something I miss." Simon placed a reassuring had on Jim's shoulder before shifting back into Captain mode. "That's an order, Detective." 

"Yes, Sir," Ellison answered as his Captain walked away. "Just be careful. Please." 

Simon waved his promise back as he stepped onto the sidewalk leading to the house. 

Jim strained to listen, to hear anything that would help give them an edge and for a few seconds he could actually hear the hostage's panicked breathing. But then everything seemed so loud. The radios crackling sounded like electrical discharges, even the reporters' hushed whispers screamed in his ears. He ducked his head and threw his hands tightly over his ears. 

Although he wouldn't have believed it, the action helped. Instead of wincing in pain he wondered at the waves of pressure against his temples. He could count them as the stacked themselves from his jaw to his scalp. Wave stacked upon wave, ridge upon ridge, in five groups until they reached the back of his head where they turned and wrapped themselves into whorls. He realized that each group-ending whorl was different, like say...a fingerprint. Wow, he thought to himself, It's my skin. That is so amazing! 

Then all hell broke lose. 

Jim jumped when an impossibly loud noise jerked him back from his musings. He looked up just in time to see the young hostage tumble out the door onto the rickety porch, blood staining his shirt in too many places. He heard the S.W.A.T. commander order his men to move in and Jim lost it. 

What the hell was going on? One second he was straining to hear across the over grown yard and the next he was in the middle of the OK Corral. Then it hit him...he'd spaced again. 

"Simon!" he screamed. He jumped out of his hiding place behind a squad car and rushed head long into the battle, shooting blindly in the general direction of the killer and blazing a trail to the broken down house. He hurdled the dead boy and rushed in the door, and there, on the floor face down in a large and spreading pool of blood, the body of Simon Banks. 

* * *

Ellison shook himself out of the past, gritting his teeth against the bile rising from his churning stomach. With a final glance at the city, he said good-bye to it all and drove off into the rising sun, hoping that someday he could find a way to make amends. 

Jim spent the first night camped outside Buffalo, Wyoming. Too tired to drive any farther, he pulled the truck into the campsite and set up his tent. He built a fire and cooked some dinner, but only picked at it: knowing that he had to eat didn't make the food taste any better or his stomach any less knotted. All around him the sounds of the night chorused and to anyone who cared to listen they were beautiful. But as he sat staring into the flames, he didn't hear the hoot of the owl or the yipping howl of the distant coyote. Instead his mind flashed back. 

"This wasn't your fault, Jim!" Captain Taggert tried once again to convince Ellison to stay. "Simon would want you to finish this." 

"I can't do that, Joel. And I think Simon would be OK with my decision. I need to do this." 

"Jim, you're a great cop, don't waste that." 

"It's no good anymore. This is all so much madness and it'll never be worth the cost." 

He'd walked away then, just left his badge and gun and drove off into the sunrise. The loft had been put on the market and sold within three weeks. That left him with a great nest egg and the freedom to try living for a while. If he ever could. So now, here he was east bound on I-90, heading for the foot hills of the Rockies to try his hand on a farm; no crops, just a few pigs and several dozen dairy cows. 

He wasn't totally sure about this, but it was the only thing that offered him even the faintest bit of hope. The Green's were family, in a distant sort of way. His cousin Jake and his wife Helen lived on a dairy farm with his mom, and all nine of their kids. He shuddered at the effect that many people were going to have on his freaked out senses but Jake had assured him that there was a great family life if he wanted it and lots of peace and quiet if he didn't. He'd laughed when Jake had said that. How do you get any quiet with that many kids? But Jake had only laughed and replied "You'll see." 

Two days after leaving Cascade Jim pulled into the Sunrise Dairy outside Tolston, Montana. As he rounded the corner that took him off the main road, he got his first look at his new home. It didn't look like much, kind of run down. Well, I guess that's what I'm here for. He passed a sizable barn that needed a serious coat of paint and waved to the teenager who was pitching hay from the loft. His truck bumped down the well-rutted road and came to a stop in the front drive of a large house with a nice, big wrap around porch and swings hanging from the beams. 

Jake came out when he heard the truck pull up and now stood on the steps wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He laughed when Jim opened his door and was immediately mobbed by the farm's dogs...all fifteen of them. Jim winced as the dogs continued to bark, but tried not to show how much the racket was killing his ears. It wouldn't do for him to freak before he'd even gotten his bag out of the truck. 

Jake did notice, or maybe he was used to the dogs' reactions to strangers so he waded into the chaos of barking and wagging tails and clapped his hands twice. "Hey Laddie!" he called harshly to the biggest of the cow dogs. "That's enough. Go on, get out of here!" The dogs scattered, following Laddie's lead. 

Turning back to his cousin, he smiled. "Don't mind these guys, they're rowdy but they earn their keep chasing the stock in from the fields every night. Come on in," he added, shaking Jim's hand firmly. "We were just about to call everyone in for dinner," he said, grabbing Jim's bag out of the truck. "This all?" 

"It is for now. Thanks." 

Inside the house, Jake dropped the bag on one of the four couches that lined the two walls of what had to be the family room. Ellison automatically scanned the room: on one side of the room was a piano and several guitars. Musical family, he thought absently. Near the entrance of what he thought was the kitchen sat a big, black pot bellied stove. Looks inviting. Too bad it's not winter, it might help warm this chill I can't seem to shake. 

Jake's voice brought him out of his thoughts and he looked at his host and discovered that he was being introduced to his wife. Helen was a short, stocky woman of obvious Native American heritage, who's face showed the signs of a hard working life. Her eyes, however were a bright as her smile and every bit as warm and welcoming. 

"It's good to meet you, Detective." 

As they shook hands he knew she'd seen him flinch at the use of his former title. Looking into those eyes he realized that she knew exactly what she was doing by calling him that and he decided immediately that she was not one to be trifled with. By the same token, he knew she'd do everything she could to take care of him like he was one of her own. 

"Thank you, but please, it's just Jim," he said returning her smile. 

At that moment the back door flew open and two young boys pushed around each other to get in first. Helen dropped his hand and turned to her sons. With one look from their mother the boys stopped in their tracks. Jim stifled a laugh brought on by their enthusiasm and introduced himself. 

"Hi guys, I'm Jim." 

Each took his proffered hand and the oldest of the pair told him their names. "I'm Harry. This is Andy." 

Andy looked at him with an awe that should've been aimed more at a ball player than a burned out mess of a cop. "Are you really a detective?" 

Harry elbowed his brother since he'd obviously missed their mom's message and left his manners outside. "Andy..." he mouthed out of the corner of his mouth. 

"Used to be." Jim ruffled the young boy's hair and offered a pleasant smile. 

"Cool!" he replied still not quiet getting the message, or not caring to. 

"Is the corral fence mended?" Jake interrupted sternly. 

Andy looked at his dad then lowered his head, sufficiently scolded. "Yes, Sir." 

"Susan and Katie just finished the chickens and Ricky and Sammie are washing up. They'll be here any minute." Harry offered, trying to rescue his little brother. 

Helen shook her head at the boys. "At least they remembered." 

Harry looked embarrassed and Andy shoved his hands behind his back. 

"Go on, out," she said, shooing them out the door. 

Jim felt badly for being the cause of their scolding and stepped toward the door. "Hey, I'm kind of grungy myself. Care to show me where I can wash up...Andy and Harry, right?" 

With one last look at their mother, the youngsters started out the door. "Yes, sir, it's right out here." 

On the other side of the now closed kitchen door, Jim missed the Green's concerned looks and the whispered "He'll be OK," and the replied "I hope so, Jake. That man is hurting badly." 

* * *

At dinner Jim met the rest of the clan. The grandmother, Lilly, was a tall, wiry, snappish woman who didn't seem too fond of having him there, not that he blamed her. The rest of the kids were Sammie, Ricky, Susan, and Katie. They were 18, 16, 14, and 11. Jim already knew Harry was 13 and Andy, 10. 

The meal was served on a collection of tables and chairs gathered to accommodate the large family. They ate well: a very hearty soup with thick cheese and turkey sandwiches and fresh milk. Lilly served cherry pie for dessert and Jim was stuffed. Conversation never stopped, but Jim had the feeling it was a bit subdued, as if they had all been warned not to ask too many questions of their guest. Andy however was the exception; he pitched as many questions at Jim about being a detective as he could get away with. 

Jim watched them with a certain kind of envy. He let thoughts wash over him...how would this kind of family have made me different? What would it be like? What would I be like? It made his heart ache again, digging that dark hole even deeper. 

"Excuse me," he said quietly. "I think that maybe I should say goodnight. It's been a long day for me and I still have to unpack. Thank you for dinner." He rose and scooped up his dishes and headed for the kitchen. Trying not to hear the awkward silence radiating from the dining room, he washed and dried his dishes. He was surprised when, after a few seconds of turning around in the small room, he felt the dinner plate being taken out of his hand. Looking up, he found himself face to face with Lilly. 

"Here, I'll take that," she said in a gruff voice as she put the plate in a cupboard. 

"Thanks, I...uh, I didn't know where to put it and I didn't want to do it wrong. Sorry, but I..." 

"I'll handle the kitchen, you handle the paint." Jim relaxed fractionally when he saw her facade crack ever so slightly. "Go on," she said in a warmer voice. "Jake's waiting to show you your place." 

"Thanks again. I really appreciate the chance to come out here." 

"Good night, Mr. Ellison," she returned, the edge back in her voice. "Breakfast is at 6:30. You don't show and you don't eat. And it's a long way to lunch." 

* * *

Jim lay on his bed in the back room of the dairy barn staring at the ceiling, the moonlight shinning through the little window adding a surreal glow to the room. He concentrated on his plans for the coming day to keep the memories at bay. Think hard work, think routine, don't think about Cascade, and don't think about guns or hostages or blood. Better still, don't think period, just work. Do your penance. 

He was bone weary now and he just wanted it all to stop, to go away and leave him to rot by himself. Drifting off into a fitful sleep, he never heard the kids and dogs begin to make their way back from the fields, each pair bringing with it small groups of cows until the herd was locked up tight for the night. Weariness kept him from sleeping properly. And it never ensured that the dreams wouldn't come. And come they did. Unmercifully. 

He was drowning...Blood. There was so much blood that it filled the room. It painted the walls and covered the furniture. The stench was unbearable and it fill his lungs, making him cough and cough until he thought his insides were ripping apart. And still the blood filled his lungs and he couldn't suck in any air. Through it all he saw Simon. He simply stood there, watching with an unreadable expression on his face...until the shot rang out and he fell to the bloody floor. 

He awoke screaming Simon's name. Several dogs barked and some of the cows mooed and snorted, then all was silent as he dropped back onto his bunk. He didn't try to get his breathing under control, knowing that sleep would remain at bay as long as he had something else to focus on. In the end, although he fought against it, sleep did return. This time, fortunately, the dreams had run their course for the night and he slept without waking. 

He never even heard the ratty old car pull up somewhere around three in the morning. 

* * *

Morning broke early and wickedly. The sun was already up and too damn bright and, from the sounds penetrating his door, the cows were lined up waiting their turn at the milking machine. He'd missed breakfast. Just as well...he couldn't eat now anyway because his stomach felt like he'd spent the whole night retching. 

"Grandma hates it when you miss breakfast, but even she wouldn't deny a man his coffee." 

Jim's head jerked up and found a young man in his mid twenties leaning against the doorframe, holding a steaming mug. 

"Hi, I'm Joe. You must be Cousin Jim." 

"Cousin Jim," he laughed gruffly. "Yeah, I guess that's me. Thanks for the coffee." 

"No problem. Dad asked me to show you around. He would've, but he had to go see about a cranky engine on the delivery truck. It dropped Sammie and Christy about three miles up the road. Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll meet you out front." 

Jim was left to get up and moving but he caught a snatch of conversation from just down the barn. 

"So?" asked a girl's voice. 

"So, what?" answered Joe. 

"What's he like?" 

"Annie..." 

Joe's voice held a bit of warning and Jim was wondering what that was about when he heard it: A voice. Actually more of a musical laugh, but it struck a chord somewhere deep inside him. 

Then the voice spoke. 

"Annie, Annie, Annie. He's your cousin. Geez, and you think I'm bad!" 

The voice laughed and Jim stifled a groan. 

"Guys!" the girl whined. 

"Come on you, get going before he comes out and finds us all standing around gossiping about him" 

He heard the barn door close and he slumped against the wall. The voice was magical and it flowed over his heart like a spring breeze and for the first time in months he felt there was hope. 

"No, damn you!" he growled. "You don't get to hope." 

He swallowed his coffee in just a few gulps, letting the hot liquid burn his mouth and throat then roughly shoved his legs into a clean pair of jeans and threw on a T-shirt, socks and shoes. He ran a comb through his hair and stormed out of his room, forcibly slamming the door behind himself. Anger. Anger was good. He deserved it. 

"Hey, that was fast," Joe remarked as Jim came out of the barn. "So, what's on your mind for today?" 

"Why don't you just give me a list and I'll let you know," he snapped. The kid flinched and suddenly Jim's anger was deflated. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be so rude." 

"That's OK. I didn't mean to upset you. How about I show you around and then you can start wherever you like?" 

"That sounds good." 

"OK. Let's start right here then. The barn is big enough to hold all the cows. There are about thirty, but you don't have to worry about them, The animals are cared for by the kids and Mom handles most of the milking herself." At Jim's surprised look, he explained. "The milker is mostly automated. It's easy to handle and doesn't give us much trouble. Mom likes the job so we stay out of her way. If the thing breaks down, Dad or Ricky handle the repairs." 

Joe walked Jim through the big, drafty barn pointing out the stalls for the cows and where the feed was stored. He stopped near the back, under a section of roof that was badly in need of repair. 

"This part of the roof needs fixing. Dad made a deal with Mr. Johnson at the lumberyard for the supplies. I'll take you down there later and introduce you, we can pick up the stuff then." 

Jim took a close look, deciding that it would only take a week or so to get it back in good shape, then followed Joe out the back door and into a holding area. They stopped at the gate and Joe laughed. "Yikes! Looks like Andy's been mending fences again. Sammie said a couple of cows got into a scuffle last week and one of them kicked the fence. See the bailing wire? That's Andy's signature." 

"His signature?" 

"Yeah. When he's got other things on his mind he uses a quick fix. I suggest you get him out here to help when you're ready to fix it. Mom always says you should do it right the first time so you don't waste time doing it again." 

"Sounds like good advice," Jim mused, then turned at the sound of laughter coming from across the yard. He saw the kids gathered around a smaller corral, cheering loudly. 

"Oh man, come on. You're going to love this." Joe ran across the yard and climbed up on the fence beside his sisters. 

Jim followed, his curiosity piqued. When he reached the fence he had to laugh. In the muddy pen Ricky and Harry were chasing the biggest hog Jim had ever seen, not that he'd ever really seen all that many, but this one was big. 

"What's going on?" he asked. 

Susan answered. "The pigs root around and dig up the ground. They're putting rings in their snouts so they won't root. Chester's the last one and he ain't about to let anybody near him." 

"Makes sense. I guess," he replied even though he didn't get the point. Then, from behind he heard the voice again. 

"All right! I've got it. Just step aside boys and let me show you how it's done." 

Jim turned in time to see a young man about Joe's size and age push a bucket through the rails and climb into the pen. He didn't get a clear look at his face, only a glimpse, but it was enough. Jim's world came to a screeching halt and he was dumbstruck. He wasn't too tall but he had broad shoulders and nice legs that ended in a well fitting pair of jeans covering a perfect butt. The collar of his black and white flannel shirt was covered by shoulder length dark, curly hair. 

Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his arm and he turned to find Annie smiling at him. 

"Blair has that effect on everybody," she said sympathetically. 

Blair. Oh God. The voice grew into a man and the man into the faint rays of hope like the rays of the morning sun not yet cresting the horizon. The coming dawn, still far on his horizon, had a name: Blair. 

Jim stared, unaware of the look of longing gracing his face, as Blair picked up the bucket and shook it, rattling the contents loudly. Then he called to the hog. 

"Hey Chester," he said in a sickly sweet voice. "Come on you big pig, you know you want this. It's your favorite." 

"What's in the bucket?" Jim whispered to Andy who had moved to sit on the rail beside him. 

"Feed. Mostly grain, but oats too." 

Jim watched the young man in the corral as the hog trotted around him a few times then stopped directly in front of him. He saw Ricky and Harry move in slowly, ready to attach what was really a small metal triangle with pointed ends instead of an actual ring. 

Blair shook the bucket a few more times and held it out to the hog. Chester calmly walked up to the bucket and stuck his face in. Jim could see Blair grin triumphantly just a split second before the pig grabbed the pail with his mouth and took off across the pen with the kid in tow. Stubbornly refusing to let go, Blair let out a string of what had to be curses in some language probably only he recognized as he was dragged around the muddy pen. Everyone laughed as he tried to stay on his feet, all the while yelling at Ricky to hurry up and get the ring ready. Then with a final swing of his head, the animal sent the poor guy flying several feet to land face down in a puddle. The kids clapped and cheered as Chester trotted around the yard tipping the bucket up to let the feed pour out, then flinging it away. 

He pulled himself up out of the mud and took a bow. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he said theatrically as he wiped his face with his one remaining, relatively dry sleeve. Then the young man looked directly at Jim. Their eyes met and held for several long moments. And beside him, Jim heard Annie sigh. 

"Damn." 

Jim managed to pull his gaze away from the mud-covered vision and stormed off across the yard toward the holding pen. On the breeze he heard a faint "Shit" from Blair. 

That doesn't even begin to cover it! Jim thought darkly. 

* * *

"Joe? What's wrong with Jim?" 

"Nothing Andy. He'll be OK." 

"Annie?" the young boy asked, turning to his sister. 

"He's fine. But I think he's just found what he's looking for and he's scared," 

she answered, not taking her eyes off the muddy young man in the pen who was still watching Jim's retreat. 

"What's he looking for?" 

Joe looked at Annie over the top of the boy's head. "Sorry Ann," he offered. Then to Andy, "You know, I bet Jim could use some help mending that fence you fixed last week." 

"Aw man, busted." 

Joe laughed and gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the barn. "Go on." 

"OK, see ya." 

As the boy ran off in search of his new favorite cousin, Annie continued to watch Blair, who was now washing up under the hose. She sighed heavily and turned back to her brother. 

"It wouldn't be the first time he's broken a girl's heart. I just never thought it would ever be mine." 

"Come here, Sis." Joe pulled her into a hug. "If he knew how you felt, he wouldn't dare. He cares about you." 

"I know, but his heart's taken now." Annie pushed away from her brother and wiped her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she put on her bravest smile and turned toward the house. 

"Some day it'll be your turn to love like that." 

"Thanks, Big Brother," she called over her shoulder. 

* * *

Jim stifled a groan when his shoulder protested the abuse it was getting. It had been hours since the incident this morning. He'd even skipped lunch in an effort to stay as far away from that kid with the eyes and the hair and the body and the voice...Get a grip Ellison. This is not what you need right now. And anyway, what makes you think you could have something that wonderful? No, pain wouldn't stop him, he would feel every punishing blow; he deserved it. 

Stuffing a handful of nails in between his lips he reached for another 2 x 6 to replace the one that was broken. He held it in place, pounded in two nails then moved to the other end and viciously hammered away. 

"I think you killed it already." 

He looked up to find Blair sitting on the corral fence. From the way his damp hair was shining, reflecting the late afternoon light, Jim guessed that he must have showered. Visions of the man standing under a hot shower, square hands rubbing shampoo through those curls rocked him. 

"You gonna put that down?" Blair asked, smiling smugly and pointing to the hammer that had stopped in mid air. 

That little shit. He knows. He feels it too and he's taunting me. There he sits, with those eyes and that smile... 

"Hey man, you OK?" 

All traces of that Cheshire Cat grin suddenly fell from Blair's face. Something was very wrong with the way Jim was looking at him: his expression was concentrated yet oddly blank, his eyes definitely vacant. 

"Jim?" he ventured. 

There was no reaction, so he reached out tentatively to touch the man's shoulder. He moved his hand closer and could feel the heat radiating from the sweaty skin. For a split second he hesitated, not wanting to actually come in contact, knowing that when he did he would be irrevocably changed, yet still needing to do something. He was about to put his selfishness aside and complete the gesture when he had a life saving thought. 

From somewhere in the vast warehouse of a storage facility that he sometimes laughingly referred to as his memory he latched on to a fact about men who'd been in combat and how they often times had violent reactions to being awakened by touch. Well, he wasn't asleep, but Blair decided that it would probably be safer to keep his distance. So instead he found his most soothing and calm voice, the one that he'd probably wonder later, looking back, just where it had been hidden before that moment. 

"Hey, Jim. Are you in there? Come on, big guy, talk to me." 

No response. Now what? 

He tried again. "Jim. Jim, you need to wake up. I'm totally lost here and you're scaring me." 

Blair continued speaking quietly for several minutes before he considered getting help. 

"I don't know how to help you. God, I hope you'll be OK, but I have to go get someone so they can call a doctor. Just hang on." 

He half turned to go when it hit him. The realization that he was the only one who could help, that it was he who should be here, doing this for Jim, in this time, this place, ran through him like a freight train and settled somewhere in the middle of his chest like a peaceful dove. And it scared the hell out of him. Did he believe in fate? Probably not, but one never knows. 

"OK Jim, you've got to come back now. I'm so worried and I need you to come home." 

Blair could see it, the moment when he did indeed come home. The dead look was gone and in its place came blue as soft as the morning sky. He was confused but definitely back. 

When Jim cleared the cobwebs from his head, he found Blair looking at him with such a relieved expression that he immediately looked around to see if everything was OK. Shit. I hope I didn't screw up again. Blair's voice brought him back to reality. 

"Oh man, finally. You scared me...Uh Jim? The hammer?" Relief was in his voice, but so was mirth. And that angered Jim. 

He let the hammer fall one more time, just for spite, against the board then tossed it aside. He was suddenly very angry. He hated these episodes, hated losing control, spacing and coming around to find that everything had changed while he was gone. But he also hated having to rely on someone, need someone. It was dangerous to be involved with Jim Ellison. Better to crawl back into his hole and banish the light that was trying to shine on his battered, dark soul. Banish. Yes, he would do that. 

"What do you want, kid?" he growled. 

Blair's flinch told him that he'd hit home, that the guy hadn't missed the barb or the anger behind it. Probably wondering what he did wrong. But his victory was short lived. Blair only grinned that maddeningly smug grin. 

"Me? Not much, but Lilly wants you for dinner. She said no excuses." 

And as if that weren't enough, he leaned back against the fence and tucked an errant curl behind his ear. He stood there, like he was daring Jim to attack him again, to try to defeat the shaky facade that was concealing his hurt and anger. And suddenly Jim wanted so badly to grab him and bury himself in his arms for the next 80 years. 

However he knew neither his destiny to be that easy nor his fate that forgiving. They were only taunting and cruel. So he sent another glare the young man's way and began gathering his tools. When he finished he looked back to find Blair gone. He looked up to the sky in anguish and thought "What am I supposed to do now?" Not surprisingly, he didn't receive an answer. 

* * *

Everyone was seated and talking a mile a minute when he arrived for dinner. Jim took the only empty chair, sitting himself between Andy and Sammie. He looked up in time to catch the plate that was shoved in his face. 

"Thanks," he rumbled as he took a roll. 

He turned to Andy to pass them on when he noticed he was being watched. Why didn't I notice those eyes before? They're impossibly blue. Shit! He could only stare into the face of the naked desire displayed in those eyes. Dragging his eyes away forcibly after what seemed like hours, he searched the rest of the young man's face. His belly flipped over when Blair smiled softly at him just before turning to talk to Lilly. 

When his stomach settled, he frowned. The expression on the kid's face was familiar, but try as he may, Jim couldn't pinpoint it. It was a direct contrast to the fire he'd witnessed only seconds before. 

Through out dinner, he could feel the eyes on him but he ignored them. Instead he talked to Jake about the farm, about his plans for the upcoming week, and the camping trip he was taking next Saturday. 

"If you go up to Tracer's Ridge, there's a great spot just about a mile off the trail," Jake told him. "It's a small clearing just north of the ridge that borders the river. The water's shallow there, but if you walk upstream about 20 yards you'll find a spot that's shady, deep, and still." 

"Oh, yeah," Jim breathed. "Sounds perfect. Can't wait." 

Across the table from him, the eyes twinkled at his boyish anticipation. His thoughts were running exactly along the same line. Well, almost. 

* * *

The dream began the same way it always did: with blood. The walls, the floors, the furniture, everything was covered. And he was drowning and coughing and gagging and Simon was watching. Then the shots rang out and reverberated through his head like bombs in a tunnel. He tried to get away from the rising red tide and the thunderous noise. He tried to run but tripped over Simon's now dead body. Scrambling up, he ran for the door; he had to get out, had to breathe. He burst through the surreal door and slammed into the standing body of the hostage. It was riddled with bullet holes but its eyes were open and they were staring at him and they were impossibly blue. 

"NO!"  
Jim screamed and bolted upright, his hands scrabbling to push away the sheet in which he was hopelessly tangled. 

"Jim! It's OK Jim," Blair said, trying to capture the hands that were frantic. "Hey, calm down, you're OK, you're safe. Just tangled in the sheets. Come on, let me help." He succeeded in stopping the hands, but was chilled when he noticed that Jim had suddenly gone still. 

"Blair?" Jim croaked a few seconds later. "Blair, oh God, you're alive?" 

Blair found himself being fiercely hugged. The other man's hold put painful pressure on his shoulders and ribs but he welcomed it, knew it was supposed to be this way. 

"Yeah, Jim. I'm alive. I heard you screaming, I'm here now." 

He returned Jim's desperate grip, relishing in the heat, the warmth that infused him. It flowed through him, warm and filling to those empty places he didn't know he had. 

Then the embrace was loosening, the strong arms unwinding, leaving the young man suddenly saddened and scrambling to school his features into an acceptable expression. 

"Jim," he began...and ended when he got a look at the man's face. He had no idea what to say in the face of such overwhelming need. 

Jim grabbed Blair's head in his hands and pulled it close. He felt the shudder run through the other man and he knew that Blair knew what was being asked. And in those long, searching seconds while waiting to receive an answer, Jim watched in amazement as the face before him transformed into the face he'd seen at dinner...calm, soft smile, impossibly deep blue eyes. It had baffled him earlier, but now the answer was clear: Blair's countenance was the picture of peace, peace in its purest form. He'd already made his decision, accepted his fate and he was telling Jim that everything was going to be all right now, if he would accept it, too. 

And with a gentle nod, Blair gave him what he needed. Except that one man wasn't prepared for that gift. At the first touch of their lips, at Blair's strangled whimper of joy, Jim pulled away... quickly, as if struck by lightning. 

"Oh God," he managed to rasp out. Pain was chiseled on his face and he tried to run. 

"You can't, Jim!" Blair cried, reaching for the tortured man now backing away from him. "Please! Please don't push me away!" He pulled desperately at Jim's sweat soaked T-shirt, his movements begging, pleading, frantic. 

"Blair..." 

"No! You listen to me Jim Ellison. This is not an option. I refuse to accept anything else and neither will you!" 

The younger man swooped down and fiercely took Jim's mouth, scorching, searing, and branding him forever. And it was all Jim could do to keep his head above water as he was swept away by the roaring rapids. He allowed himself to be pushed down onto the bed and taken. 

Blair was straddling Jim's left thigh, laying low across his body and grinding his fleece-covered erection into Jim's hip, moving in an ever-increasing rhythm. His mouth never left Jim's but his hands were everywhere. They combed through his hair and stroked his jaw. Moving on my skin...feels incredible. They surrounded his neck and slid to his shoulders. So good. They ran down the length of his arms and up his sides. Don't stop touching me. They ran through his armpits and over his collarbones. Please! They ran down his chest and over his stomach. Can't be happening. They ran down his thigh and back up to his waist. Almost. They slid under the hem of his shirt and smoothed along his fevered skin. Yes! Had he had the ability to move his mouth he would have hissed. Blair suddenly released his mouth and jerked the shirt up, ripping the fabric in one long, vicious tear. Oh. My. God. His target now visible, he zeroed in on Jim's left nipple, kissing and sucking on it like he need this to survive. Blair! His hands were busy too, the right one pinning Jim's left hand high above his head and his left one roughly kneading Jim's right breast. Have to hang on. His last bit of control was fractured when Blair pushed his knee firmly up into Jim's groin, effectively throwing him over the edge and into oblivion. He was vaguely aware that Blair had come, too, and that his arms were now free. He tried to move them, to wrap them around the light which was suddenly so bright on his horizon, but felt like they weighed a ton. He tried to talk, to say something, anything, but his speech was gone and his brain couldn't put itself into working order. 

So he lay there, like he was in a coma. Until he felt Blair's strong arms turning him. They turned him onto his side and pushed his legs up. When he felt that body mold itself behind him and caring arms come to rest over his chest, holding him tightly, Jim drifted off to sleep, feeling safe for the first time in his life. 

When Blair was sure that Jim was asleep, he buried his head in Jim's neck and whispered, "Don't be afraid, my love." 

* * *

Jim awoke the next morning and reached for Blair. His heart sank when he realized that he was alone, suddenly, horribly, alone and sad. He rolled over, back into his pillow, prepared to reopen his suite in Hell, when he felt paper crinkle under his cheek. He sat up and smoothed out the page and stared at the writing. It wasn't neat, but it was legible, and he took a deep breath before reading the words. 

My Love,  
(You are, you know. That and something so much more wonderful!) I'm sorry I couldn't be there when you woke up--I had to leave early to go back to school. But I needed to say that I'm OK with last night. I understand. And I don't expect anything from you in return.  
I know that I'm not Simon (you called for him in your sleep.) He must be very special. But please, remember me.  
Blair 

"Always, Blair. Always," Jim whispered and he rolled over again. This time, when he slept, there was a note clutched tightly in his hand and hope in his heart. 

* * *

Cascade, Washington. Four months later. 

"Come in!" Blair called out absently. 

"Hey. What are you doing?" Joe asked as he entered the dim, musty apartment. 

"Working on a paper." 

Joe looked around the room. It was pretty scary. Blair's refuge reflected the sadness that had taken over his life. There was no music, tribal or otherwise, and the sun that was so much apart of this place was effectively shut out by closed windows and drawn shades. 

"It's quiet in here," he observed. 

"It was," Blair responded without looking up. 

"Dark too." 

"I like it that way." 

"Since when?" 

"What do you want, Joe?" he asked finally looking up. 

Joe hesitated; not sure how to approach any of the subjects on his mind, not the least of which and not surprisingly related to was the coming summer. Finally he decided, or rather his rumbling stomach decided, that maybe a distraction would help. 

"How about we grab some lunch?" 

"Thanks Joe, but I'm not hungry," Blair replied without looking up from his work. 

"Blair..." 

"Joe..." he returned in the same tone of voice. 

He sighed heavily. "Here we go again." Blair ignored him. How many times had they been through this since they'd come back? Joe was worried. His normally bouncy, energetic friend had slowed down. No, that wasn't an accurate description of the changes. He was the same old Blair on the outside; he still had way too much on his schedule. He studied with a vengeance, spent too many late nights at the diner down the street with other grad students, and even spent his weekends either buried in the library or lost in some museum exhibit. 

Yeah, Blair was Blair...on the outside. 

But he'd lost weight and he looked like he hadn't slept more than three hours a night since they'd come back from Montana. His eyes were shadowed and pain filled. On those rare occasions when he was alone he withdrew. For those close to him it was hard to watch. A few knew, or thought they knew, the reason for his growing mental seclusion. And that made it all the harder, for Blair was one soul that everyone wanted to take care of and he was too lost for their help. And now, having reached his tolerance limit, Joe decided to take a risk. He dropped down on the sofa next to his friend and put his feet up on the coffee table. Right on Blair's notebook. 

"How much longer are you going to hide from this?" 

Blair's head jerked up so fast it even surprised Joe and the go to hell look did nothing to stifle his argument. "Well, anger is better than denial or disinterest." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"You, buried in the books, denying you care about anything." 

"You need to stay out of this. I can handle myself just fine," Blair snapped and jerked his book out from under Joe's feet. "Go away, I have to study." 

"Fine." Joe got up and stalked to the door. He turned back to say something stinging and saw his friend suspiciously swipe his face with his sleeve. So instead of leaving he went into the kitchen and put on a pot of water for tea. He worked silently, Blair not seeming to notice he was there. Joe watched his friend curl up around a cushion and bury his face in his hands. When the tea was ready, he filled two mugs and went to sit on the sofa by him. 

"Blair. Here, drink some tea," he said handing him a cup. "Talk to me. If I can't help, at least you can talk about it for a while. Don't you know you can trust me?" 

Blair watched the tea swirl around in his cup while he debated how much, if anything, he was going to tell his best friend. Joe's question hung in the air between them and the silence was heavy. It awaited a reply; they'd been friends for years now and he deserved the truth. He studied the man before him...pale skin, dark hair, boyish face and grin, but his eyes were where Blair knew he'd find his answers. And they were worried. 

He looked back down into his tea and took a deep breath. 

"I slept with him." 

It was whispered quietly but Joe didn't need to have it repeated. He'd been expecting this. 

"I figured as much." 

Blair put his cup down, tucked up his knees and laid his head down on them. 

"Why?" the other man asked gently. 

"Because it was the right thing to do," Blair replied without looking up. 

"Excuse me?!" his friend asked incredulously. "Why?" 

When Blair raised his head the look he saw on Joe's face was almost enough to make him laugh. Almost, but not quite. 

"You really want to hear this?" Blair asked sarcastically. 

"That's unfair. You know I won't judge you," Joe calmly retorted. 

"You're right. Sorry. God, this thing is putting me through the wringer." He relaxed a bit when his friend smiled. "I'm not sure where to start." 

"I'd say at the beginning, but that'd be too clich. How about we start with the corral." 

"By the fence? You were watching?!" 

"Calm down. I'm not sure were talking about the same thing, so let me rephrase that. Start with what happened when Chester threw you and your brilliant solution to the muddy ground." 

Blair laughed and as much as he hated to admit it, it felt good. He hadn't honestly done that in four months. Not since Jim. "Thanks, man. OK, start with Chester." He took a deep, cleansing breath and jumped in. 

"I wasn't expecting to get hit by lightning," Blair shrugged is shoulders and smiled sadly. "That's what it felt like. I just looked up and looked into his haunted eyes and I knew. Wham, just like that everything was clear. When he stormed away I knew I was fucked. I think he knew it too, that's why he took off. But what's ironic is that I taunted him with it." 

"Are you kidding me? He would have pounded you to a pulp." 

"No, see that's where it gets weird. I washed up after Chester's revenge but I saved the heavy artillery for later. When I was out hiking with Ricky and Harry I `tripped' and fell down that steep path that curves around those big boulders. I got really dirty when I landed in the creek bed, so..." 

"So then you had to shower when you got back." At Blair's wicked smile and wriggling eyebrows, Joe laughed. "Man, you are evil." 

"Thanks. Anyway, I showered just before dinner and then I got picked to call him in. He was out at the fence hammering on those nails like there was no tomorrow. I made some smart-ass remark and he looked up at me. Then the hammer stopped in mid swing and he just stood there, staring at me. Then his eyes went blank. I couldn't get any kind of response out of him for what had to be three or four minutes. Then he was back. And he was pissed." Blair decided to keep the details to himself, feeling like he'd be desecrating something sacred if he spoke the words out loud. 

"And you didn't have anything to do with that either, I suppose?" 

"Honestly? No. At first he looked around like he was looking for something. Then I asked him to put down the hammer and he slammed it down hard on the nail and growled at me: `What do you want, kid?' Man." He shivered, remembering the current of warning in the icy voice. "So do you think I could keep my mouth shut?" 

"Knowing you? Not a bloody chance in Hell." 

Blair laughed again. This was turning out to be quite therapeutic. "Actually I just told him Lilly wasn't accepting excuses for dinner that night and then innocently tucked a stray stand of hair behind my ear." 

Joe looked suspiciously at his friend and realization dawned. "You didn't use your thumb?!" Blair repeated the gesture and shrugged. Joe shook his head remembering how many girls fell at Blair's feet after just that simple gesture. 

"Poor guy never had a chance." 

"Yeah, that's what you'd think, but I'm the one who was already in deep, so far that I'll never see blue skies again. See, when he was...I don't know...zoned?...I was scared. And I thought about getting help, but I suddenly knew I was the only one who could help him. I knew that's why I was there." "So that's why you slept with him?" 

"Yes. And no." Blair let out a frustrated groan and scrubbed his hands over his face. "See I knew it would always be me. I tried to tell him that later, but he didn't get it. Then late that night, I had a dream. I heard a big cat yowling like it was dying and then a wolf appeared and growled at me, then head butted me from behind until I got moving it the direction of the screams." 

Joe took a big swallow of his tea and shook his head in disbelief. "You're right. It is weird." 

"Tell me about it. But I woke up then and suddenly felt like I needed to get out, like I was suffocating and the walls were closing in. I made it out to the front yard and dropped to my knees. I was on the verge of a panic attack, I think. That's when I heard the moans coming from the barn. He was having a nightmare. When he woke up, he thought I was dead." 

"What?!" 

"He thought I was dead." Blair repeated as if the meaning should be clear to everyone. "When he realized he'd been dreaming he hugged me so hard. Then he looked into my eyes and that was that. I was permanently out of circulation. He kissed me and, Joe it was so unbelievable! But he freaked. But I knew it was right and I wouldn't let him go. He needed me. That's why." 

"Shit, Blair." 

"Yeah, that's what I said." 

"So what's the problem? You're acting like he chewed you up and spit you out on the trash heap. You can see him again when we get there next week." 

"No way, Joe," he replied anxiously. "I'm not going back. Not as long as he's there." 

"Man I have a headache. Care to explain to me why not?" 

"Because it was just the moment. Space time convergence, him and me, in that place, at the time. What are the chances of that happening again?" 

"You are so full of it. That's a cop out and I don't believe it. Tell me the truth." 

"I love him," he said without hesitation. 

"Obviously, but not the right answer. Next." 

Blair groaned and dropped his head on the back of the sofa. "Simon," he mumbled. 

"Who's Simon?" 

"I don't know," Blair spat out, raising his head again. "But he called out for him in his sleep several times!" 

"Geez. I'm sorry. Want me to get Dad to throw him out?" 

"Ha Ha. No thanks. I'll just find something else to do this summer," he offered, waving his hand in a halfhearted attempt to conceal his broken heart. 

"But..." 

"Don't you get it, Joe?" Blair shouted, suddenly very angrily. "I love him and he doesn't want me. I was just in the right place at the wrong time and I forced him. Now I love him and I don't know if I'll get over that!" 

"Well, maybe that's his problem, too." 

"In English, Joe? Because I'm too tired for games." 

"Dad said he lost someone. Maybe it was this Simon." 

"Joe, don't. This isn't going to help." 

"Look, you have to do something. You can't just sit around and waste away. Did you talk to him?" 

"Just what am I supposed to say? I love you forever and by the way, who's Simon?" 

"Well, yeah. For starters." 

"I already did that. I left him a note before I left that morning." 

Joe latched onto that piece of information like it was a drowning man's lifeline. 

"It wasn't on a red piece of paper by any chance?" 

He knew he'd hit pay dirt when Blair's expression went from despair to suspicion to faint hope. 

"Yes, it was. Why?" 

"I was talking to grandma last week and she was telling me about how great things were looking around there. Apparently he's doing one hell of a job. She said the barn roof..." 

"Joe!" 

Gotcha! Joe laughed wickedly to himself. 

"Oh, right. The note," he said schooling his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "She said that she's caught him looking at it a lot, when he thinks no one's around. Then he folds it up carefully and puts it back in his pocket." For effect, he added, "He must be doing that a lot, cuz she said it's looking pretty ragged." 

Blair's face reflected surprise and hope, and then it changed into confusion. "Joe, I think you should go now. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Need to process it. Thanks for listening." 

"OK, just think about it carefully," he replied as he stood up to leave. "We care about you, Blair. We just want you to be happy. And since you broke my sister's heart the least you could do is not waste that. Just think about it." 

"Sure, man. Thanks." 

* * *

The morning mist that blanketed the farm in the early hours of the day had long since evaporated. His stomach mumbled weakly and he realized that he'd missed breakfast again. By now the family knew he wasn't coming and, although Katie let it slip that they always set a place for him at the table, just in case, somehow that morning cup of coffee always found it's way to his door. Sometimes he would find a fresh muffin or two as well. Their kindness was unending, but still he found no solace with them. 

Sometime after Blair left, when the lack of contact with the young man slowly smothered any hope he harbored, he had a moment of dark, clarity: He decided that his life would always be so, that it would never be anything but he and his grief. And in that instant he realized that it wouldn't last much longer...one day he would drift away and never come back. 

He set aside his coffee and reached for the worn and tattered red paper he kept folded neatly in his pocket. He unfolded it only halfway before pausing and asking himself what he was doing. Torturing himself...that's what he was doing. Four months had passed without a single word from the one who held his soul captive; Four long, hard months of wondering, hoping, crying, spacing, and nightmares with only the memories of the one night when he'd been safe, loved, and forgiven. 

Only this time and place, as the sun rose and bathed the land in it's stillness, granted him any reprieve from his loneliness; for it was such a fierce and consuming loneliness. Uncaring now, he balled up the note and let it fall from his hopeless fingers. 

As he sat in the hayloft doors, his eyes followed the horizon. To the west he could see Harry and Andy walking back from the pasture. He looked above the foothills and into the sky, searching...there it was...the eagle that circled the treetops every morning. He knew that it was a solitary creature, but somehow he felt this one's loneliness. 

He watched it circle, floating on the breeze, and Jim could see the feathers on the edge of it's wings flutter as the currents rushed past, lifting the animal higher on the breeze and turning it in a maddeningly slow arc. He marveled at how each individual barb on each vane interlocked to make each feather uniformed. They crisscrossed and wove together and... 

"God! Finally. Joe have I ever told you how much I hate this drive?" 

"Doesn't stop you from coming. Besides, I did most of the driving. All you did was sit back with your eyes closed and make me listen to that jungle music while you bounced across the state, so quit moaning." 

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever man," he waved dismissively as he walked away. Jim shook his head and tried to drag himself out of his latest zone, desperately needing to focus on what he thought he'd heard. Had he heard it? 

"Hey there Houston. How are ya? Still keeping the mountains lions away from my favorite family?" The big collie barked enthusiastically. "Here you go boy. I brought this just for you. Just don't let Laddie see it, you know you'll lose it for sure if he does," he laughed. 

Jim felt his troubled heart beat erratically. Blair was back. 

He turned back to his view, to the bird that, unbeknownst to the animal, had kept Jim company on these long, lonely mornings. The bird dipped low into the trees and Jim lost sight of it for a moment. Then, with a flurry of wings and a rush of air, it cleared the trees, flying as quickly as it could. He watched in amazement as another eagle appeared in rapid pursuit. They danced around each other as they soared out over the lake, twisting and turning then interlocking their talons and falling into a downward spiral. They broke apart just before hitting the water then flew back over the ridge together. 

"Lucky bastard," he mumbled to himself before rising to begin his day. 

* * *

He busied himself on the northern border of the property riding fences just like some old cowboy. Lunch consisted of a couple of sandwiches and an apple from the food he'd begun stocking in the cabin fridge. It's just self-preservation, he'd told himself, that's all...it wasn't an easy substitute for the people around him, the people who only wanted to help. He was just too busy to come in for meals, he'd told himself...and it wasn't a way to keep the Green's from getting too close, from discovering his secrets. 

In fact, it had become too easy to be away from them; when he'd discovered the cabin, asked after it's use, they of course gave him assurances that he could use it whenever he wanted. And he made full use of it as he rarely went back to the barn to sleep. The memory of one night was too strong. 

Now it was Sunday evening and life was about to get screwed up all over again. Lilly required everyone's presence at dinner whether they liked it or not and no one, least of all Jim, argued with her. He'd discovered that once he'd gotten past her defenses- or had she gotten past his- that he liked her wicked, edgy humor. 

But tonight was different. Blair would be there and since he'd been home for three days and hadn't come anywhere near him, Jim knew something was wrong. Oh, he hadn't gone chasing after the guy, for part of him regretted what had happened and he couldn't blame Blair if he too regretted the night they spent together. And while his regret was born of fear for the young man (getting involved with James Ellison was not healthy) another part of him harbored the feeling of peace that came from letting go and giving Blair control. 

Sighing in resignation, he pulled on a new pair of black jeans and his favorite white, long sleeved mock-T and forced himself out the door. 

* * *

"Come on, Blair. You can't hide from this." 

"Oh yes I can," the man responded. He rolled over and pulled the throw over his head. "I shouldn't have come back." 

Joe sat in the chair and propped his feet up on the corner of the bed. "Christ, Blair. Why did you come back? I thought you had all this worked out." 

"I thought I did, but now I feel like some dog who's come back to beg for more. He hasn't even been around since I got back." He groaned, remembering the way Jim had let him make love to him. He hadn't been disinterested, more like dazed and willing to let him do the work. Then Blair had gone and left a note, like a lovesick teenager... "I'm just a stupid kid, Joe.' 

"Well, he's been out at the cabin. Are you sure he knows you're around?" Blair snorted disgustedly and sent a glare his friend's way. "OK, that was a stupid question but..." 

Joe stopped in the middle of his sentence when Blair held out a tattered piece of red paper. He knew immediately what it was and its implications. 

"OK, I'll tell Grandma that you're sick. She'll probably send some dinner up for you. Blair, you belong together. Trust yourself. And, you've got until tomorrow afternoon to fix this. If you don't, I will." Joe walked out and closed the door before his friend could answer. 

Blair was still grasping at straws an hour later when he heard a tentative knock on the door. And he knew, simply and undeniably knew, and he panicked for a long terrifying moment because he had just run out of options. He thought about fleeing, but there was no where to go. When the door opened he sat bolt upright and he knew that this was it, time had just dribbled its last grain of sand through the hourglass. 

"Blair?" 

The voice was unsure and hopeful and, damn, so needy. And Blair knew he could never stay away, ever again. If there was ever any doubt, he now understood how utterly lost to this man he was. And it scared the shit out of him. 

"Can I come in, Blair? Please?" 

"I don't think that's a good idea." 

Jim came in anyway, softly closing the door behind him. He walked to the desk and set the dinner tray down, Blair tracking his movements like a cornered animal. 

"Are you OK?" he ground out. The needy voice had disappeared and in its place was one of tightly rained control. Blair shivered and fought the urge to hide under the covers. This was not a man to be trifled with and he realized that he was dangerously close to crossing some carefully drawn line. 

"Um, yeah. I'm good, just a headache. It'll pass." 

"Blair? I...good. That's good." He turned to go, suddenly very unsure of himself and although the sensible part of Blair wanted Jim to just vanish, his heart suddenly tried to get out of his chest to follow it's mate. It was as if it was saying, "Fine, stay here and shrivel up--I'm not letting you stand in my way!" Jim heard the heart rate double and he jumped, startled into two revelations. One, that he could actually hear Blair's heartbeat and recognize it for what it was and it's extreme and immediate importance to his sanity. And two, that something was very wrong. 

Whirling around, he rushed to the bed and dropped down beside it. Blair flinched when he tried to touch him and Jim pulled away, trying not to let the hurt show. He stood and walked to the door but paused with his hand on the knob, turning to look at the man again and quietly asking, "Do you know the cabin on the north hill? I'll be there tonight. Please come, we need to talk." 

Blair didn't answer and Jim offered a weak smile and left the room. 

* * *

Jim slowly rocked back and forth in the old porch swing, his fingers tracing the fine grain of the wood he could feel under the coats of varnish. He thought about the hours that he'd lovingly spent sanding, priming, and finishing the swing. Repairing it had begun as a diversion, something to focus on instead of the young man two states away. Then one evening he realized his efforts weren't for himself, for his own peace of mind. They were for Blair. He'd worked so diligently in the hopes that one day they could share it, could sit on the porch and stare off across the valley and into the future. How sappy was that? He chuckled to himself. 

Now he sat, with his feet on the railing, wondering if there would ever be a tomorrow or even a tonight, much less a future. Jim wasn't sure he could define what he felt inside at this moment; he wanted it to be love, a love so deep that they would be bound together forever. Only trouble with that little tidbit was that he couldn't trust himself. He'd failed Simon miserably and now his friend was dead. How would he ever live with himself if he caused Blair any pain? He knew the answer to that one, easy...He wouldn't. Christ, what am I doing? He berated himself. The guy has his whole life ahead of him and I can't be there to screw it up for him. This is wrong and I'll just apologize when he gets here and then disappear. He looked at his watch and saw how late it was. Anyway, he's not coming so the point's pretty much moot. 

He stared miserably down at his coffee and didn't notice that the young man appeared at the edge of the clearing. The sudden heavy drumbeat that crashed over his ears startled him into looking up. When he saw Blair standing in the shadows, he realized that he was hearing his heartbeat. Oh my God, I can still hear it! 

And he knew it was a sound he would carry with him until he died. The guy was scared, Jim realized, so he held himself still. His eyes followed Blair as he crossed the yard and climbed the steps. Blair walked around the swing and quietly sat down next to Jim. Neither man said anything, neither sure of what to say or where to begin. Then in a gesture that was so much like a long-time lover's Blair reached over and took Jim's cup. He tucked his legs up under himself, took a sip of the coffee, and leaned over and rested his head on Jim's shoulder. Jim said nothing, but wrapped an arm around the broad shoulders and pulled him slightly closer. They sat together, merely rocking and watching the stars, for a long while before Blair spoke. 

"I love you, Jim. I've tried not to, but it won't let me go." 

His revelation was spoken quietly yet firmly, almost as if daring Jim to argue. He didn't. He only leaned down and placed a tender kiss on Blair's hair and pulled him closer. What could he say now? To hear those words come from the man who sat next to him, who so perfectly fit against his body, was a feeling beyond description and he wanted to bury his fear, hide it away so it wouldn't ruin this moment. Except he loved Blair enough to do the right thing. 

Then Blair spoke again and all his arguments and good intentions and decisions flew right out the window. 

"Make love to me." 

Jim closed his eyes and deeply inhaled, relishing the words, the opportunity he never thought he'd ever have again. He reached into Blair's lap and took the cup and set it on the porch. He captured one of the hands and kissed it, then stood up and led Blair inside. 

Once behind the closed door Jim looked down at his love. His eyes were filled with hope and uncertainty and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to give everything he had just to reassure the young man. He pulled Blair closer, by the hand that still grasped his tightly and threaded his fingers through the long curls. Jim held Blair steady as their lips touched. 

As they had the first time, Blair whimpered and Jim pulled away quickly. He managed a whispered "Oh my God," but this time instead of scrambling away, he pulled Blair in for another long taste, then rested his forehead against Blair's, trying desperately to get his breathing under control. 

Daring a glance into Blair's eyes, he saw they were wild and pleading and his fingers were digging mercilessly into Jim's hip with a bruising force. Jim searched the deep blue, watching the silver flecks sparkle and he began to feel himself slip away. 

Blair's voice brought him back. 

"Please, Jim. Not now. Need you to finish this." 

"Yes, baby. Whatever you want." 

He leaned down and kissed his lover hard, his tongue pushing into the hot, moist silkiness of Blair's mouth. Tastes ricocheted and exploded across his taste buds and he catalogued them...toothpaste, coffee, chocolate chip cookies. Jim released Blair and smoothed the backs of his fingers across his cheek and smiled. 

"What?" 

"Two things really," Jim chuckled. "One, you taste like chocolate chip cookies." "Gee, thanks. Very romantic. And the other?" 

Jim's smile faded and his expression turned serious. "Later. For now I want to give you what you need." He turned and led his lover across the one room cabin to the bed. Stopping at the edge, Jim let his hand trail down Blair's face and neck to the top button of his shirt. Jim's questioning eyes rose to meet Blair's certain eyes. 

The younger man moaned as fingers grazed his newly exposed skin. The fabric was pushed aside and Jim kissed a collarbone. He nipped and licked down to a nipple, where he was delighted to discover a small stainless steel hoop blanketed among the soft chest hair. 

"Sweet lord," he mumbled before running his tongue over the nub and ring. He threaded his tongue through and gave it a couple of tugs. Blair gasped. "Oh god, Jim. Again!" 

Jim complied happily, deftly sucking the nipple and tugging the ring at the same time. Somewhere above him he heard his lover moan and below him felt the cock fill instantly, it's hard length bulging against Jim's stomach. He reached down and gave the denim-covered bulge a firm squeeze. 

Blair grabbed his shoulders and arched his hips into the touch. "Ungh," he grunted. "More, need more." 

"I'm coming, love." Jim dropped to his knees and ripped the guy's jeans open, offering a silent prayer of thanks that they were button flies instead of zips. 

"Shit," he rasped out when he discovered that Blair hadn't worn underwear. He gave a hungry kiss to the soft skin a few inches below his navel followed by a swift downward tug of the denim and the beautiful cock sprung free. He wrapped his hands around Blair's thighs and nuzzled into his groin. "Perfect," he mumbled just before taking the velvety, steel hard shaft into his mouth. And it was perfect; the taste was musky and salty, the texture soft yet Jim could trace every vein with his tongue. He licked up and down the underside, circled the crown with his tongue and closed his mouth around it and sucked several times. When Blair gripped his head and tried to pump into his mouth, Jim released him and looked up at his face. His head was thrown back and a look of pure ecstasy graced his features for a split second before he realized that nothing was happening. Blair looked down at Jim with confusion but was too dazed to speak. 

"Lay down, baby. Just let me get out of these clothes and I'll give you anything you want." 

Blair sat down hard on the bed and watched hungrily as his lover quickly stripped. "All I want is you. Want you to come with me," he said as he lay back. 

"I can do that," Jim growled as he climbed up the bed and covered the smaller body with his own. He held most of his weight off his lover, but repeatedly ground his pelvis roughly against Blair's. 

"Yeah, Jim," the other man hissed as he grabbed his ass tightly and shoved their cocks together. "Harder," he ordered, picking up the pace of their movements. Both men were leaking pre-come heavily and the fluid slicked the movements as their rhythm speeded. Jim threw his head back and Blair licked his throat. "Come on, Jim. Let go for me." 

If any of his brain not currently associated with his cock had been working, he would have wondered when he'd lost control over this situation. All he wanted was to show Blair, to somehow express all that he was feeling in his gut. Instead he was being given exactly what he needed and being driven to the edge of madness by the young man beneath him. 

He was so close and it would only take one more touch... Then he felt a finger brush over his anus. And it was pushing inside him. Jim exploded; groaning loudly as his come spurted out and mixed with Blair's across his belly. He collapsed on top of his lover and flinched when the other man removed his finger. 

As their breathing slowed, Jim drifted off towards sleep with the feeling that completion was lurking on the fringes of this...thing...between them. He was lulled by Blair's touch running up and down his back. He thought he spoke before succumbing to the darkness but he couldn't be sure. It didn't matter anyway. But to the young man who held him in his arms it did matter; it mattered so very much. 

* * *

Blair awoke to the sounds of moaning and he looked over to find Jim having another nightmare. The dream was intense and his heart cried for the pain that it was causing his lover. He moved to roll away out of Jim's reach before attempting to wake him, but he was pulled tighter in the embrace. He seemed to quiet so Blair decided the dream must have run its course. 

Sleep was only a few breaths away when the dream began again. Jim shook his head and mumbled pieces of sentences that could only be about the tragedy that had put Jim on this horribly sad and lonely path. 

"...doesn't feel right. Let me go instead." 

"Just be careful, please?" 

"Don't want to feel my skin. Make it stop!" 

Jim buried his head deep in Blair's side and began to cry in his sleep. That was all the young man could stand. He reached down and petted the short hair and crooned softly. 

"Jim, love. It's OK. You're going to be fine. Everything's OK now. Come on, my love. Shh." 

Blair knew the instant he awoke because Jim simultaneously relaxed with relief and stiffened with confusion. 

"Simon?" he mumbled sleepily 

Blair wanted to throw up. He tried to extricate himself from the arms around his waist but when he couldn't move he panicked. 

"Let go of me!" he hissed, struggling with Jim's hold on him. 

Jim came fully awake at the urgency in his lover's voice. 

"Please, Jim." When the plea failed his anger boiled to the surface. "Damn it, get you hands off me!" 

Knowing he could never purposely hurt his lover, Jim let go. 

"Are you OK? Did I hurt you?" he asked in a pained voice. "What happened Blair? What did I do?" 

Jumping off the bed, Blair began to pace. "What did you do?" he asked incredulously, but more to himself than to Jim. "What did you do? You didn't do anything. I'm the one who fucked up here. I did it again! I let this happen. I wanted it again and I made you do this." 

His arms moved frantically as he paced back and forth in the small room. Jim tried to calm him and when words failed to penetrate the mumbling and ranting, he reached out to grab his arm. It was the wrong move. 

"I said don't touch me!" Blair violently yanked his arm away and turned his fury directly on Jim. 

"You needed me. I pushed you into acknowledging that and I convinced myself I could deal with that, that I could make you forget, even for a few hours and that I could live with your leftovers. But man, I was SO wrong! And I believed you, you lying bastard! You lied to me and I believed you!" He seemed to suddenly deflate, sinking into a corner and laying his head on his drawn up knees. "You said you loved me," he added quietly, agonizingly. "And I believed you." 

Jim, who was struggling to make any sense of what was happening, now remembered the words he wasn't sure he'd spoken aloud and realized with frightening clarity that they really did matter, now more that ever. He climbed off the bed and slowly approached the huddled figure with caution. 

"Blair? I do love you. Jesus, baby, you're the only thing that makes me want to get out of bed in the morning and drag my sorry ass through another day. I've thought of you every day since you left. I still have the note you left me. I carry it everywhere I go and I pull it out when I don't think I can go another step." 

Blair moaned, knowing that Jim didn't even remember that he no longer had the crumpled note. Jim crawled to kneel in front of his love and gently put a hand on one arm. 

"Your voice rings in my head when I think I'm going crazy and seeing you in my memory keeps me grounded. Please, Blair. I don't want to go back to that cold, blackness again. And you didn't make me do anything I didn't want like I want to breathe. What we've shared, it's what my heart wants. It's what I need to survive. I love you, so very much!" 

Blair looked up and studied the pleading face before him. He knew what had to be said next would hurt but he had to know everything before he went even one centimeter further. 

"Then who's Simon?" Try as he may, he couldn't help but feel a bit of dark satisfaction when Jim flinched. 

Jim dropped his hand and moved away. He knew he owed Blair the truth, knew it was probably the only way he could make this right, but he just couldn't. This stain on his soul was for him alone and if he had to lose this then so be it. He would never put this on anyone. He stood up and shucked on his jeans and left. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Blair snapped to the empty room. 

Jim stomped of into the dark night not caring where he was going. Nothing mattered now except the echoes of the slamming door and the words Blair flung out in despisement. 

Well Ellison, you managed to makes sure you got exactly what you deserved. And you're just enough of a shit to drag him down with you. 

* * *

Blair slugged through the darkness, in the rain, tears coursing heavily down his face. His feet were freezing since he'd be unable to find his socks and simply stuffed his feet into his wet boots and headed out. Now thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning skittered across the sky, but he kept trudging along. It was very dark in the woods and the rain and his tears obscured most everything but the occasional lightning flash. He was hurt and angry and not thinking clearly so he was unprepared for the steep trail down the hill and around the big boulders to come on him so quickly. He tripped over an unseen root in the path and fell. Tumbling rapidly down the slick trail, he tried to grab onto anything he could use to stop his decent, but his hands couldn't find purchase. He landed in the creek, hitting his head on a partially submerged tree. The impact knocked him back into the high grass and left him unconscious, with a profusely bleeding cut on his head and the rain pouring down even harder. 

* * *

Jim lay under the delivery truck that had refused to be moved from the barn for its pre-dawn milk run. He'd discovered that he could hear the problem plaguing the cranky engine and took it upon himself to fix it. Unconsciously his mind searched out the one heartbeat he needed but all he heard was the constant patter of rain falling. Reeling in his hearing, he tried to focus on his task, all the while telling his heart that `no, that door will not be opened.' He had just slid back under after retrieving a forgotten tool when someone kicked his foot. Hard. 

"Hey!" he huffed as he scooted out from under the truck. He looked up to find Lilly, Joe, and Annie staring at him like they were a lynch mob. "What was that for?" 

Only Lilly answered. "I don't know what's going on with you two, but you'd better haul yourself out there and fix it!" The old woman ordered as she stabbed her finger in the general direction of his heart. She looked like she wanted to carve it out, with a spoon. Then she whirled around and left the barn in a huff. Jim stared after her in total confusion. 

"What the hell was that all about?" 

"Blair's gone and no one's seen him since last night." 

"What?!" he shouted as he scrambled to his feet. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" 

"Why would you care?" Annie snapped. 

Jim glared at her, but didn't waste time on an answer. The tightness gathering in the middle of his chest told him all he needed to know. "No, this is not happening. Not again," he mumbled agonizingly as he pushed them out of his way and ran out into the still falling rain. He took off into the woods shouting for them to get busy looking and to get a doctor out here quickly. 

Deciding that the most logical place to start was the trail back from the cabin, the trail he hadn't taken, he grabbed his jacket and headed out. Twenty minutes later he reached the creek and followed it around the bend where the trail rose into the foothills. Here the rain began to fall heavily, blindingly at times, and he wished that he could somehow keep the water out of his eyes long enough to make his eyesight work. But it was too painful a task. His hearing was working and surprisingly didn't seem so painful. Then again, nothing was as painful as the ache in his heart. 

That ache and pressure growing in his chest forced him to pick up the pace and he rounded the bend just as a fierce gust of wind howled through the arroyo and hit him in the face. He reached up to shield his eyes and almost missed the faint smell of blood. It wasn't fresh, but it had never dried completely. Even without ever having smelled Blair's blood before, he knew it was his. 

"Blair!" he screamed. He search frantically through the driving rain and swelling creek and finally caught a glimpse of red in the high grass of the opposite bank: Blair's jacket, the bright color being Jake's requirement when the kids were hiking in the hills, just in case of hunters. 

"Oh please, not him too." 

Looking around, he found a safe place to cross and ran to where his lover lay. 

"Come on, Blair. Don't do this to me. I'm sorry. I'll tell you everything, just don't leave me!" he pleaded as he carefully turned the man over and saw the gash under Blair's eye. He brushed the dirt away and absently noted that the bone under his touch didn't seem broken. He smoothed the muddy hair away from the beautiful face and gasped at the flushed, hot skin. His lover was burning up with fever and Jim realized that he must have been out here all night. Jim would never forgive himself for this, but there would be plenty of time for recriminations later. Right now, he had to get Blair to that doctor. 

Picking the unconscious man up and cradling him in his arms, Jim began the journey home. One hour later, he stumbled into the farmyard, literally, and fell to the ground. Jake and Ricky were there instantly and helped get Jim to his feet and Blair into the house. 

"Where's that doctor?" Jim growled as he followed them up the stairs to Blair's bed. 

"He's on his way Jim," Jake soothed. "He should be here in five or ten minutes." 

"That's too long." He pushed the others out of the way and started to pull the wet clothes off his lover. "Ricky, run a cool bath. Not hot. Then see if you have a first aid kit." The boy ran quickly out to get the water started and nearly collided with Susan. 

"Daddy?" she began as she stuck her head in the door. 

"Go get dry towels. And send Katie to tell the others we found him." 

"Water's ready," Ricky yelled from down the hall. "I'll go check for Dr. Collins." 

Jim was on autopilot now, refusing to give up his burden or let Jake help. He wrapped Blair in the blanket from the bed and carried him to the bath, sparing an apologetic glance for Jake and closing the door behind him. Gently lowering the now shivering man into the tepid water, he did his best to clean him up. He sponged away as much mud as he could without hurting Blair and managed to get most of the leaves and mud out of his hair. Grabbing a clean wash cloth off the towel rack, he gently wiped the blood away from the wound on his cheek. It was bruised and swollen but no longer bleeding. Jim hoped it wouldn't leave a scar. He couldn't bear having that beloved face marred for life because of his selfishness. 

A knock on the door roused Jim from his single-minded task. "Jim?" Lilly called through the closed door. "Here are those towels." The door opened and she dropped them on the back of the toilet. "Oh dear," she gasped when she caught sight of Blair's face. 

Jim looked up at her with a tortured face and barely managed to whisper "I'm sorry." 

She merely shook her head and told him that the doctor was here, then left. Jim drained the water and wrapped his lover in a towel and carried him back into the room. 

Dr. Collins tried to clear the room, but Jim refused. Nothing in heaven or hell was going to make him leave. Nothing except Blair. Only his words would send him away. For now, he would guard this man from the throes of death itself if necessary. He watched silently as the doctor worked, feeling the burning skin of his limp hand, and listening and watching intently. 

Thirty minutes later, Blair's fever had dropped only one degree, but his lungs were pronounced clear: no pneumonia so far. He was dressed in dry, clean pajamas and now lay tossing under the down comforter. Jim was his sole attendant, having heard the doctor's prognosis and instructions and promptly chasing him out. He rechecked the water pitcher to make sure it was full and ran a cool, wet cloth over his forehead and down his face, pausing when he reached the edge of the bruised area. He traced the stitches with his eyes. The beautiful face...forever marked, forever reminded. 

He continued his task late into the evening, not even bothering to eat from the tray Helen had brought. He listened to Blair's fever induced ravings and continued gently rubbing his hot skin with the cool cloth and talking to him about everything and anything he could think of. Everything except Simon...that would only be said when he was awake and well again. But it would be said. The Green's came and went. Each offering what they could to help or console, but Jim barely took notice. He'd followed the doctor's instructions to the letter and even found himself listening to the lungs take each breath. They remained clear. 

"Jim?" 

He looked up at the sound of his lover's croaked words to find blue eyes looking into his. They were clear and bright, if a somewhat fatigued. He touched the back of his fingers to Blair's fore- head and cheek. The fever had broken. He sighed heavily with relief and brought his focus back to Blair's face. 

"Hey you. How are you feeling?" he said softly, before unconsciously leaning in for a kiss. When he realized what was happening, he stopped and offered a weak smile instead. 

"I feel like shit Jim, like someone yanked out my heart and stomped it six feet under." When Jim frowned, he tried for humor. "My face feels great though, if you like the roughed up look," he quipped as his fingers traced the outline of the bandage covering his cheek. 

"I'm sorry, Blair. So sorry." He dropped his head on his lover's chest and wrapped his arms around his body. 

"Jim, I don't want your apology. You don't have anything to be sorry for. I did this. I know that. What I do want is for you to hold me so I can sleep." 

Jim immediately scrambled up on the bed and curled against Blair's side. He re-wrapped his arms around him and kissed the top of his head. "You didn't do any of this, love. It's all my fault. I..." 

"Don't. All I want from you, ever, is to be honest with me." 

"OK," he nodded solemnly. Then he added, "I love you, Chief." 

"And don't shut me out," he mumbled already more than half asleep. 

When Blair was deeply asleep, Jim crawled off the bed and went down stairs to tell everyone the news. Then he went back to his room to get some much-needed rest. 

* * *

The patter of rain on the roof woke Jim late in the night. Or rather the lack of rain. It had been three days since Blair's fever had broken and he was getting stronger every day, but still wasn't fully recovered. Jim spent as much time as possible with him, but out of respect for the family and their children, he would go back to his room every night. 

He rose now and climbed the ladder at the edge of the barn, drawn by the bright moonlight shining through the broken clouds. It's silver rays shone like spotlights through the glass as it scattered light across the landscape of the hayloft. Jim was overcome with a sudden need to open the loft doors and let in the night air, to feel the fresh, clean breeze on his skin, to taste the newly washed scent that always followed the rain. 

He pushed apart the doors and they slid quietly away. The moonlight rushed in, lighting up the barn and ushering in the soft currents that, with only the barest contact, brushed against Jim's skin. He closed his eyes and went with the air, following, tracking, racing to keep up with the tiny touches as they skittered across and around his body. It raised goose flesh along his ribs and across his chest, but it was an amazing feeling...like he was hearing the breeze whisper to him and although he couldn't quite make out what was being said, his heart told him to listen because this was very important. Inhaling deeply, Jim felt air rush over his nasal passages, smelling its fresh hope, tasting the wonder it brought. 

As his lungs expanded, so did his heart. He knew now, he had to let go, to free himself from his self-imposed prison. The answer was so very simple...there was only one way to do that. Jim opened his eyes, and looked across the yard. And there, bathed in the silvery moonlight, stood his heart, looking back at him. Neither man spoke, yet both had arrived at the same place in time at the very same moment. Jim's heart skipped several beats as Blair moved. Minutes later, an eternity later, his eyes closed again and his jaw clenched in a supreme effort to control the tears of joy he felt when the square hands slid around his waist and up to his chest. His skin burned where Blair's face pressed against his back. 

He trembled when his lover placed a kissed on the base of his neck. 

"Forever, Jim." 

"Yes, love. Forever." 

Jim pulled him around to stand against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around Blair's body. As they faced the now rising sun he rested his head against the other man's and whispered, "Simon was my friend." 

His lover held his silence, respecting the struggle the wounded warrior faced in trying to tell his story. His only show of support came in the form of a nuzzle back against Jim's throat. 

"He was my friend and he died." 

He briefly tightened his arms around the younger man then released him. Jim moved to sit on the edge of the loft and Blair followed, legs boyishly swinging back and forth. 

"It was a hostage situation. The guy was strung out and barely on the edge. That isn't so unusual for us, but this time it was personal. Six years ago Simon busted him for bank robbery but his wife got caught in the crossfire and he blamed Simon for her death. Cullen was released early for good behavior and then came after Simon's son. He grabbed the wrong kid, Blair. When Simon went in to negotiate, Cullen figured it out and killed the boy, then Simon." 

"Jesus, Jim," was all that the young lover said, whispered really. 

The silence continued stretching out before them like a living entity while Jim suffered his memories and Blair searched for adequate words. The only ones that came to mind seemed trivial, prying, and beside the point but his inner voice urged him to say them anyway. 

"Did he know you loved him?" he asked without looking up. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jim look at him with piercing blue eyes. He could guess what was running through the older man's mind, what angry words were on the tip of his tongue ready to be hurled out at this nosy kid and he steeled himself for the assault. He would suffer this, for Jim's benefit, because he needed to get it out if he was going to deal with the rest of this tragedy. He turned to look Jim in the eye and was surprised when the words finally came. 

"No, I couldn't let that happen. But I did what I could to protect him." 

"Jim?" Blair asked, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me the rest. I love you, no matter what. Nothing will change that." He leaned in and kissed him, warmly, reassuringly. "Trust me." 

Jim caressed a beloved cheek and drew his courage from the depths of love he found in Blair's blue eyes. 

"It was my fault." 

"Not possible, Jim," Blair interrupted. 

"Blair, please. Just let me say it all while I still can." 

At Blair's nod, he dropped his hand and turned back to the view of the farm. 

"I'd been slowly going crazy for weeks. Smells would drive me crazy and I could hear what everyone was saying, sometimes from blocks away. And the light! God, it was never dark enough for me to sleep. I was on overdrive and Simon knew it. But he also knew I needed to be there for him. He let me come to the scene if I promised to stay back and not try to be a hero. 

"I knew something was wrong almost immediately. A voice just kept pounding away inside my head, growling out its warning. I tried to convince him to let me go instead, but he refused. He was afraid I'd space out again." 

"Space out?" 

"Yeah. Like with you at the corral that first day. It was happening a lot. I'd be looking at something or listening to someone and before I knew it someone would be shaking me and yelling at me to wake up. Once it happened while I was trying to catch a bomber. She almost killed me before my partner dragged me out of there by the collar of my jacket. That was the worst...until Simon." Jim took a deep breath and continued, his voice choked with emotion. 

"He told me to stay back and listen. When he went into the house, I tried hard to listen, to hear anything that might help, but the noise from the area was suddenly too much. And it hurt, it hurt so bad!" 

Jim rose suddenly, and turned away as if still unwilling to physically share this deepest pain with anyone. He shivered and crossed his arms around himself. After a moment he continued. 

"It gets confusing there, but suddenly everyone was shooting, the kid was dead and I just ran. All I cared about was getting to Simon. But I was too late...he was already dead." 

Jim felt arms come around his waist and hold him close. 

"Simon wouldn't blame you for this," Blair offered gently. "You can't control what the criminal does and if you'd been the one in there he would have killed you, too." 

Coming around to stand in front of Jim, he continued. "As much as I hurt for you, I'm glad you weren't there." 

"Blair, I..." 

His words were stilled by the soft touch of Blair's fingers against his lips. 

"Don't, love. There's rain in your heart and I'm only trying to bring back the sun. Let it go, it's time." 

Jim looked down into Blair's face and in his eyes he saw a love so deep he was suddenly very frightened. He stepped away. What if it happens again? What if I lose him too? 

Blair seemed to read his mind. "It won't happen, Jim. Whatever is going on with you we'll figure out. Together, Jim. You and me." 

Blair held out his hand and Jim searched his face. He matched what he saw there with what he saw deep inside himself and smiled. 

"Okay, Chief. I trust you," he said taking his lover's hand and kissing the palm. 

"Yes!" 

Blair bounced enthusiastically and launched himself onto his mate. Jim caught him and they fell into the hay in a heap of tangled arms, legs, lips, and hearts. He felt several tugs on his shirt and realized that Blair was having some trouble getting his fingers to cooperate. He couldn't get it out of his pants and in his need to touch Jim's skin, he was just about to rip the shirt again. Jim struggled to sit up so he could get Blair to calm down and let go before he lost another piece of clothing. 

"Hey, love...Slow down...Blair, we can't do this here. Someone will see." 

"Yeah, OK," he replied, breathing hard. "Can we go back to the cabin?" 

"Sure baby. We can do that. Only this time I'm keeping a close eye on you." 

Blair kissed him again hard, tongue forcing its way in to Jim's mouth and drawing its mate into his mouth. He sucked hard and long on it before abruptly letting go and scrambling away. Jim was so unprepared for the whirlwind to release him that he fell forward onto the hay. By the time he'd gathered his wits and picked himself up Blair was running across the yard toward the path to the cabin. Jim laughed, free now, and picked himself up before starting up the back way. 

* * *

Blair made it to the cabin first and when Jim burst through the door, he was yanked inside and thrown back against the wall. As his mouth was ravished his foot fumbled for the door and kicked it shut. Just before his mind was sent into a tailspin from Blair's attack on his senses, he had enough presence to undo his jeans and pull out his shirt. 

When Blair realized his goal was now attainable, he released Jim's mouth and pulled the shirt over Jim's head. He zeroed in on the spot just below Jim's collarbone and sucked hard. 

"Blair!" he shouted as he arched up onto his toes. 

"It's OK, Jim. I can do this now. I'm not scared anymore." 

The words made their way into Jim's mushy brain and he pulled Blair up to his level. 

"Blair, love, what are you talking about?" 

"You, Jim." His words were breathy, but his eyes were incredibly focused and sharp. "You, me, this thing between us. It's all OK now," he said triumphantly. 

"What?" Jim asked, trying to decipher the repeated garble and join in the celebration Blair seemed to be reveling in. 

Blair blinked rapidly and looked into Jim's eyes and spoke with the wonder of a child. "You can't hurt me anymore." 

Jim waited for the pang of guilt to run through him as he looked at Blair's brilliant smile, but it didn't come. He had hurt this man many times, both willingly and not, but Blair didn't care anymore. He'd taken all that inside, churned it up, and poured out a work of art: a love so pure it remembered no offense and gave wings to the future. 

"No baby, I guess I can't. I love you, only you." 

"It's about time." 

end 

* * *

End 

The Rain In Your Heart by OCONN: j804gdt@sbcglobal.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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